The fabric of one’s heart

I called a friend, someone who runs a neighboring humane society. I knew her to be struggling with the decision about euthanizing an old, ailing, and most dearly loved dog. Daisy came into her life a stray, of course, and was now (conservatively) 13 years old. I had a feeling that it was the right moment to call, and it was. Her email came a few hours later….

I know that you say thanking you is not necessary, but it really is. Your timing today was uncanny. I’m breathing again, now, finally, and my tears have dried. I brought Daisy in at 3:00 today to have her put to sleep.

I could not stand thinking that she would be suffering another night of hunger but too sick to eat, too weak to sit or walk up the stairs. But I do admit that I would have loved just one more night sleeping with her.

This whole “playing god” thing is so hard, and really so ironic. Ironic because I am very clear about my own end, and hope that when my time comes that I either have the ability to ask for my own peaceful and pain-free final moments, or if I am not able myself that that there will someone who can legally and respectfully end my life for me well before all I have left is suffering. Yet given that option for my Daisy, dealing with these animals who are truly woven into the fabric of one’s heart, it is a decision so incredibly wrought with pain, guilt, self-doubt and second-guessing.

That is true when it comes to Daisy, and it’s true when it comes to the animals who come to my shelter from other families. But you know that, of course.

As for me and my Daisy, just like all of us animal-lovers, I am a masochist in the true sense of the word: without a moment’s hesitation, even caught up as I am right this second in the grief and sadness of today, even knowing how it would end and how horrible I’d feel once again at the end, if given the chance to take her home again I would do it again in a heartbeat.